The Morning After
by celticmusebooks
Summary: Too much Romulan ale gets the men of the Alpha Bridge crew in hot water with Dr Christine Chapel. Rated M for suggestive language and some adult content in chapter six
1. Drunk dialing the ACMO & other bad ideas

Christine Chapel heroically stifled a yawn as she exited the turbolift into the silent dimly lit corridor which led to Sickbay. With only four hours of sleep under her belt, every cell in her body was crying out for coffee. The silvery doors softly swooshed open at her approach and finding no witnesses in the unoccupied outer office she surrendered to her bone weariness, indulging in a long, languorous yawn and stretched out her bed stiffened muscles.

The light was on in M'Benga's office; and as she programmed a fresh pot of strong black coffee from the office replicator he came out to join her.

"You're early." he said as she handed him a steaming cup.

""With the parties last night, I thought you'd be swamped."

"On and off," the African doctor replied, "nothing serious, just some bangs and scrapes, mostly mega doses of antitox for all the booze." He set the cup down and smiled as the darkhaired woman rearranged the chartpads on the nurse's station.

"Chris," he admonished gently, "you're a doctor now, leave that for the nurses."

"Sorry," she laughed softly, "McCoy's been after me about that for the past four months. I guess old habits really do die hard."

"You didn't go to any of the parties?"

She shook her head, "I've got some projects going in the lab that needed my attention. Well, if you have things in hand here, I can use the time to catch up on my paperwork. I'll be in my office if you need me."

Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she grabbed a handful of report pads and headed for her office. There really was nothing like that first cup of coffee in the morning after a long night in the lab, she mused sitting down at her computer terminal. The comm light was blinking signaling that she had messages waiting for her.

"Computer play messages, Chapel delta pi seven."

"Chapel delta pi seven authenticated. You have seven new messages."

"Seven messages?" she responded with a puzzled frown. "Sort by priority code."

"All priority level one."

"List," at her command a list of senders popped onto the screen. Though she recognized all of the names, one name, stood out among the rest.

"Play Commander Spock's message first, the play remainder sorted by rank."

As the angular features filled her screen, Christine felt an anxious fluttering in her stomach. Nearly four month's after Spock's return from the monastery at Gol to the Enterprise they appeared to be on the verge of becoming what her grandmother used to call an "item". He had invited her to share the evening meal with him tonight in the Officer's dining room. Maybe he was getting the Vulcan equivalent of cold feet?

Tentatively she touched the screen and the message began.

"What the hell…" she stared at the screen after the message ended certain now that she was still in her bed sound asleep. As the next message began, this one from the Admiral, she started to wonder if her coffee had been spiked with some little known alien hallucinogen. The remaining messages played out, each; it seemed exponentially more bizarre than the previous one. As the final message finished Christine found her utter shock was gradually morphing into fury.

"Computer," she commanded sharply, "Memo from Dr Christine Chapel acting CMO USS Enterprise to Admiral James Kirk, Commander Spock, Commander Montgomery Scott, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant Commander Hikaru Sulu, and Lieutenant Pavel Chekov." She took a deep, breath.

"Gentlemen and I use that term loosely. I am in receipt of each of your missives from earlier this morning. I would like to take this opportunity to make myself perfectly clear to all of you.

"I do not wish to lower my shields and be boarded. I do not wish to see the Captain's "log". I do not wish to see your "plasma injectors". I do not wish to have my warp core "breeched"", nor my warp nacelles "adjusted". I am uninterested in attending any "debriefing sessions" in any of your quarters. I do not require anyone to clean my antimatter chamber. I do not wish to make "first contact". No, you may not "pet my tribbles". I am not interested in hearing anymore metaphors that include the following: shuttlecraft and shuttle bays, Jeffries tubes, your "warp drive", thrusters, photon or for that matter any sort of torpedoes, zucchini, plomeeks or any similarly shaped fruits or vegetables.

"I believe that is goes without saying that if told me 'I had a beautiful body', I would under no circumstances in this or any possible universe hold it against any of you."

"Computer please attach link to Starfleet Sexual Harassment Interactive Tutorial" she continued, her sapphire eyes flashing. "You will each find yourselves locked out of your duty stations until you have logged in and completed the test with a 100 percent ranking.

"Computer please cc this portion of memo to Catering and Ships Stores, in the future Romulan Ale will not be served at any ship's functions under any circumstances. Existing stores of said item are to be destroyed by oh eight hundred hours this date under the authority of Dr Christine Chapel MD, PhD acting Chief Medical Officer USS Enterprise.

"Chapel out!."


	2. Out of the Closet

For one horrifying moment, Hikaru Sulu thought he'd been struck blind. Gradually a faint bit of light coming from underneath the door pierced the enveloping darkness and he struggled to make some sense of the indistinct shapes surrounding him. His tactical sense kicked in and he began furtively running scenarios in his head, trying to determine what could have lead him to be imprisoned in the dark cramped room.

He was alone, of that he was quite certain. He stretched out each of his limbs in an impromptu inventory of his body parts. All accounted for, no apparent damage he decided, though his head was pounding. Had they beat him, drugged him? And who, for that matter were "they" and where the hell was he? Gingerly he pulled himself to a seated position, pausing momentarily to regain his equilibrium.

The pounding in his head worsened and he was hit with a wave a nausea that almost knocked him back down to the floor. Focus on the door, he ordered himself. It appeared to be the only way in or out. Perhaps he could find something around him to jimmy the door, or to use as a weapon against his mysterious captors.

There was no way to determine if there were any surveillance devices in the room, so he snaked along the floor as quietly as possible to avoid detection. It was metal of some sort, cold to the exploring touch of his nimble fingers. He listened carefully, hoping for some clue as to what he would face beyond the door. Footsteps, approaching quickly, he searched the darkness vainly for anything he could use against the enemy drawing closer.

The doors made a scraping sound as they opened and Sulu threw himself into the bright light taking his captor to the ground with him. Her screams refueled the pounding in his head, and embarrassment flooded him as he recognized the terrified woman underneath him as Tamara Kavanaugh one of the junior lab techs.

He was on the Enterprise in the corridor that led to the Biochem labs.

He scrambled quickly off of the young woman, and was attempting an apology as the security team came toward them, phasers drawn.

"Everything's fine here, just a misunderstanding," the helmsman said anxiously, hands raised. It was starting to come back to him now with painful clarity, the party in the Officer's lounge, the enticing pale blue of the icy Romulan Ale.

"Are you alright ma'am?" one of the red shirted ensigns asked the woman, who had pulled herself to a seated position against the wall.

"I think so," she responded tentatively. "I was just going into the supply closet for some sample cases and," her breathing was returning to normal and she was beginning to sound more amused than frightened, "and the Commander jumped out when the door opened."

All eyes turned to Sulu and he smiled sheepishly at the pretty lab tech. "It would appear that I had a little too much to drink last night…"

The two security guards looked at one another, both obviously stifled a laugh. There had been parties throughout the ship last night celebrating the end of the shakedown cruise for the refitted Enterprise, and the brig was already running at almost double capacity. "It's your call Ensign," the taller of the two said, as he offered her a hand and gently helped her to her feet.

She cast Sulu a hard look. "Will you stay out of my supply closet?"

"You have my word," he responded holding out his hand to her.

She took the proffered hand then nodded to the two security officers who strode back down the hall.

Sulu stepped off the turbolift and walked briskly to his quarters. He was off shift today, but had plans to meet Janice Rand for lunch. He checked the chrono; there was plenty of time for a quick shower, some off duty attire then a trip to the botany lab to check on Gertrude. The rapidly blinking light on the comm indicated that he had a priority one communication waiting. He felt a strange gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. What if Jan found out about his night in the supply closet and was calling to cancel lunch? The redshirts were, after all, a notoriously gossipy lot and on the Enterprise grapevine information traveled at warp speed.

He felt a moment of relief as Christine Chapel's face filled the screen, but that moment was short lived. Her eyes, so clear and blue, like sapphires, like a summer sky, like the Mediterranean Ocean, like a goblet of Romulan ale, the memories came to him in a nauseating flood. The small party in the Officer's lounge, they'd all had too much to drink, he'd always had a sort of a thing for Chapel on the first mission, it was a fatal combination. Fatal, if Janice found out it would be worse than fatal.

He stripped off his uniform and tossed it into the recycler unit, as he stepped into the shower. He was going to have to figure out a way to get back in Dr. Chapel's good graces, and it would have to be soon.


	3. Russian roulette

A stream of Ukranian epithets, which had no direct translation into Standard, broke the silence in the darkened cabin. Groaning in frustration he reached for the exquisite blue eyed creature who had invaded his dreams but his ethereal bedmate had fled in soft blue haze of Romulan ale. His jaw ached, and he tentatively rotated his mandible as his fingers surveyed his teeth which it appeared were thankfully all present and accounted for.

Cautiously he lifted his head from the bed pillow, fighting the intense nausea and disorientation that he recognized from past experience as the legacy of an overabundance of Romulan Ale. The dark cabin was illuminated only by the soft crimson light of the chrono on the desk. It was almost oh five hundred hours he noted, and a sense of relief washed over him as he realized that he was on Beta shift today. The pain in his jaw however, was hard to ignore, and he wondered if perhaps a trip to Sickbay for a scan might be in order, and while he was there a shot of antitox as well.

Sickbay, the Russian sat up quickly, far too quickly for his alcohol compromised stomach which evacuated the offending contents to the decking beside the bunk. It was all coming back now, at least bits and pieces. He had been at the small party the Admiral hosted for the original Alpha command team. Commander Uhura left early to meet someone at another party, he remembered that part quite clearly. Then they broke out the Romulan ale, and things started to get fuzzy. He'd been arguing with Scotty about how a team of Russian astrophysicists had actually postulated the theory of Warp drive, even though Cochrane had taken all the credit for himself. Seriously, how could someone get through 25 years in Starfleet and not know basic history?

The Admiral and Commander Spock and been deep in discussion of something obviously troublesome for the Vulcan. He moved closer to them to refill his glass and was startled when the generally tea totaling First Officer held his own glass up to Chekov for a refill.

The next part was fuzzy, but Pavel clearly recalled Admiral looking at Spock and saying, "I certainly can't fault your choice, Chapel has the finest ass in Starfleet."

Pavel remembered clinking his glass to the Admiral's and saying "I totally agree."

He rubbed his aching chin, which triggered a much less pleasant memory. The somber Vulcan set down the goblet of ale and coldcocked him. Incredulous, the Admiral had helped Pavel to his feet.

"The Admiral said it," Checkov had protested, "why did you hit me!"

Spock had regarded him with barely focused eyes. "Indeed, but it would not be logical to strike a superior officer," he responded as he calmly refilled Pavel's glass then his own. After that he had no memory, except a vague impression that he'd commed someone later in the evening.

He snuggled down into the covers, convinced that sleep would be his best plan for the time being when the thought hit him.

The chrono in his cabin had a blue display.


	4. Gone with the Snoring

A warm Georgia breeze swept across the wide front porch and the hammock responded with a soft sensual sway. Leonard McCoy opened one lazy eye to locate the fresh mint julep he'd heard the woman place on the white wicker table at his side. He was certain that he'd died and gone to heaven.

"Thank ya darlin'" he said, raising the glass in a deferential toast to dark haired beauty standing at the porch rail.

"Fiddle dee dee Leonard," she said, her blue eyes sparkling and a petulant pout on her pretty lips. "I do declare, you were out all night carousing with those dreadful Yankee boys and now you're just sleeping away the whole day."

"Now, now, sweetheart," He attempted to sit up, but the nausea the change of posture generated persuaded him to remain horizontal for a bit longer before he finally rose from the hammock. Moving to her he tenderly slipped a possessive arm around her slender waist. "What would you like to do this afternoon?"

Her blue eyes danced with that special delight when she knew she would be getting her way. "Well," she tapped her finger against her cherry red lips "there's a barbeque at Twelve Oaks, everyone will be there?"

"Well, Miss Scarlett, if everyone is going to be there then I guess we'd better be there as well."

Scarlett threw her arms around him and squealed with unabashed joy. He pulled her to him and moved his lips to hers in a long slow kiss.

Without warning, the porch shook to its foundation, as a powerful rumbling sound came upon them. McCoy's heart was pounding in his chest, and Scarlett's deep blue eyes telegraphed her terror. They held each other tightly for a moment and then the second wave, much stronger than the first engulfed them.

Clutching the frightened woman to him, he turned in the direction of the deafening sound

_Snoring?_

He sat up abruptly the bed sheets tangled around him.

"Damn it Jim," the doctor sighed as he hurled a bed pillow at the man sleeping his couch. Kirk opened his eyes momentarily, regarding McCoy as he defiantly stuffed the pillow under his head and pulled the blanket up over himself.

Lying back on the remaining pillow, the doctor attempted to piece together the events from the previous night's revelry. It had been quite a night, the old gang back together and the Romulan ale had been flowing freely, even that green earred hobgoblin had tied one on McCoy laughed with satisfaction. Things were fuzzier after the second round. He remembered Spock cold cocking Chekov, and for some reason they'd been talking about Christine Chapel. He shook his head trying to clear out the alcohol induced cobwebs from his memory.

"_Chapel has the finest ass in Starfleet."_

He was sure that he'd heard Jim Kirk say that to Spock, then Spock punched Chekov- but that didn't make any sense. He knew Jim had a thing for Chapel from as far back as the first mission, hell most of the crew would have made of move on her, him self included, but she'd only had eyes for that damn boneheaded Vulcan lug.

His attention was drawn to the blinking light from the comm unit on his desk. Gingerly rolling from his bed he realized that he was still wearing his clothing from the previous night. Padding over to the desk he dropped down into the chair and switched on the electronic communications device.

He smiled as Christine Chapel's face filled the screen, noting that the dark hair made her sapphire eyes appear even bluer. "What the…" he jerked up from the seat outraged as the message played. "She can't do that." he protested to the thin viewscreen. I'm the CMO she has no business…" his anger morphed into abject mortification as the gaps in his memories began to fill, and the picture forming was not a pretty one.

"That blasted Vulcan!" he said snapping off the viewscreen. It had all started innocently enough. Spock had been mooning over Christine like some lovesick teenager. But emotionally he is a teenager, the doctor in him corrected. The combination of Gol and then V'ger had left Spock emotionally open, but without the emotional development and maturity to deal with the constant barrage of feelings he was now experiencing.

They had recorded the comms as a goof, ok a drunken goof but a goof nonetheless. Somehow they'd ended up sending them to her unit in Sickbay. He shook his head in disgust and fought another wave of nausea.

"Get up!" he grumbled to Kirk, smacking him with the other bed pillow." We're in some deep shit, my friend and we need to figure a way to dig ourselves out."


	5. Worshiping the Porcelain Goddess

She drifted to meet him like a Bottecelli goddess, freshborn from the sea. The Scotsman reached out for the ephemeral vision of perfection standing before him. Her blue eyes were sparkling like a thousand stars; beckoning with the promise of all that could be.

_Cold, icy cold like death, _ her promise lost to him as his callused, well muscled fingers slid along her alabaster curves. No he screamed, pulling her closer, willing his heat, his life, into her glacial inanimate form.

"Commander Scott."

_She lives! _He felt a brief moment of unspeakable joy.

"Commander Scott!" It was Riley, Kevin Riley. The Chief Engineer gradually awakened and realized that he was locked in a lover's embrace with the toilet in the Officer's fresher in Engineering.

"Are you alright sir?" Riley questioned closing the door on the curious group of red shirted ensigns snooping outside. He himself had been known to worship the porcelain deity on countless occasions. It was humiliating enough without an audience.

"Fine lad," Scotty assured him as he slowly rose to his feet. "I may'a had a wee bit too much to drink last night."

"I think we all did," the younger man nodded sympathetically. "About a third of the Alpha shift in Engineering is on the Binnacle List sir."

With a third of the staff gone, Scott decided against returning to quarters and headed for his office.

"Computer, Commander Montgomery Scott logging in," he said, attempting to suppress his annoyance. This was his third unsuccessful attempt to log into the system.

"Riley," he shouted to the outer office. "Some idiot has overridden my command codes."

"Have you checked your messages? Maybe the system is off line or something."

Scott pushed a button and spoke to the small viewscreen which responded instantly to his voice and authorization code. At least he wasn't locked out of that he mused.

He felt a strange pang of some feeling he couldn't quite quantify at the sight of Christine Chapel's lovely blue eyes, and alabaster white skin. As the doctor's message played out Scott's ample jaw dropped in disbelief. Surely he hadn't… it must be some mistake he decided. But somewhere in the back of his mind he had a flash of memory, a most humiliating memory indeed.

"What time is it?" he asked Riley jumping up from the desk chair.

"Uh.. oh eight thirty five."

Commander Montgomery Scott shook his head ruefully, pausing a moment out of respect for the sub atomic particles of the six cases of Romulan ale that were now floating in space.

"Aye lad, the Admiral isn't gonna be happy about this."


	6. 3 logicals and you're out!

"Shit," Kirk laughed bitterly at the small com screen. His head was still pounding as the last remnants of the Romulan ale worked themselves out of his system. The detox tab Bones had given him earlier hadn't brought any noticeable relief, and he wasn't quite ready to face Chapel down in Sickbay to get something stronger.

"I don't recall that being an answer to any of the questions Jim." McCoy responded with unchecked annoyance.

"No, it's the acronym for the test; Sexual Harrassment Interactive Tutorial "s" "h" "i"…."

"I can spell Admiral." McCoy cut him off sharply.

Kirk aborted his planned retort and logged into the test. There was no point in trying to reason with the doctor who was still smarting, as was he himself, from the indignity of being relieved from duty by his own ACMO.

"Can she do this?" McCoy asked sullenly as he programmed another cup of strong black coffee from the replicator in the Admiral's quarters.

Kirk nodded tightly, dreading a recurrence of the overwhelming nausea he'd experienced upon arising earlier. The Romulan ale had clearly been a mistake; and Chapel was within regulations to release them from duty pending medical review- hell if that com tape made it to Starfleet they would probably spend the remainder of their careers hauling spent dilithium crystals to the other far side of the universe.

"The Captain's "log"?" McCoy grumbled, "and Spock, that blasted green hobgoblin of all people… he's spent the past five years running like hell every time Chris so much as looks his way."

"Well" Kirk's tone brightened and his hazel eyes sparkled, "It looks like Chapel's turned the tables on him."

"Turned the tables on him? What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Apparently our Vulcan has discovered girls, or at least one particular girl."

McCoy leaned back in his chair digesting this new piece of information and a Cheshire cat grin spread across his face. "So all that mooning over Christine last night wasn't the liquor talking?"

"No, it's been going on for a few months. I think he's in love with her."

"Fascinating."

Kirk was still ruminating on the previous evening's revelation that his First Officer wanted to nail the lovely ACMO. Although, true to form, Spock has confided it to him in that special Vulcan way that apparently could even make sex sound boring. _Blah blah blah_ logical _blah blah blah_ tradition _blah blah blah_ logical _blah blah blah_ mating _blah blah blah_ logical. As was his custom when discussing anything with his Vulcan First Officer, particularly if he had a few drinks in him, he enforced a stringent three "logicals" and you're out rule. After the third "logical" he stopped listening and went into smile and nod mode.

Kirk was still feeling his way though his new relationship with the more emotionally open Vulcan, and he had found himself touched by the strange mixture of innocence and desire in Spock's confession. But if Spock couched his proposal to Christine, or any woman for that matter, in terms of logic he might as well give up now. He had been trying to help Spock understand that he needed to communicate his newfound desires to Dr. Chapel in a more traditional romantic context, but after the Romulan ale came out things had spiraled out of control.

Kirk returned his thoughts to the next question on the screen. "Apparently, my three Ferengi walk into a bar joke will have to be retired."

"It should be retired,"

"You think it's sexually offensive?" Kirk asked frowning

"Worse, it's not funny."

Kirk entered the last answer into the terminal.

"Admiral James Tiberius Kirk, congratulations you have passed the tutorial with a 100 percent rating. You are now returned to active duty."

"Well Bones, we're both back on duty; but I doubt we're out of the doghouse with Christine."

"Roses."

"Roses?"

"She loves peach roses."

"Computer, memo to ships stores. I need a dozen… two dozen…. three dozen peach roses delivered to Dr. Chapel in Sickbay stat.


	7. In the Captain's Chair

The bridge of the Enterprise was silent save for the gentle hum emanating from the instrument panels. In the faint glow of the digital readouts the sole occupant of the otherwise darkend bridge settled into the Captain's chair and steepled his fingers against his lips, assuming a tranquil meditative pose. Before him on the viewscreen, the vastness of space lay before him, a lavish banquet of new horizons to experience and explore. But the sparking spectacle of stars and planets was lost on the Vulcan whose vision had turned in upon itself.

He did not hear the soft swooshing sound as the turbolift doors opened, nor the light gentle footsteps that approached him.

"You called for medical sir, "she said calmly, her brilliant blue eyes neutral, her posture straight, perfect Starfleet regulation, a junior officer attending her commander .

"I am…" he paused apparently searching for the word, "unwell."

"I see," she responded, her gaze more focused, more attentive. "Is there perhaps something I can do to help."

"I am… unsure," the effort at speech obviously straining his Vulcan reserve. "Perhaps."

She moved toward him, and he felt his pulse quicken. She set the medical tricorder on the arm of the chair then slowly extended a pale hand to his forehead. Her touch was delicate and cool as a spring breeze and he leaned in to her. Pulling the hand back, she unfastened the closures on the front of her tunic which fell open to reveal, to his great pleasure, that she was wearing no brassiere underneath. He was unable to contain the most unvulcanlike sigh that escaped his lips.

She smiled as if acknowledging his pleasure at the sight then licked her cherry red lips seductively. Using the arms of the chair she moved herself up on him in a kneeling position, her nicely muscled thighs straddling his tightly.

With tantalizing slowness she reached out and gently placed her hands on his head, her long fingers threading through his silkly black heard as she pulled him unresisting to her alabaster breasts.

"Christine" he whispered, his voice low and raspy.

"You're hot, perhaps you have a fever."

"Perhaps," he responded, his voice muffled against her soft breast, instinctively moving his lip toward the rosy nipple.

She leaned back from him and he groaned in frustrated protest. Her eyes regarded him with bemused curiosity as she unfastened the remaining closures on her clothing, like an Orian club girl gradually revealing her lush body to him , and then casually cast the garment to the decking beside the chair..

"I am pleasing to you?"

His eyes moved slowly over her shapely body lingering on the taut rosy nipples of her creamy white breasts.

"I… can I… touch you?" he asked haltingly, Vulcan reserve and human desire warring within him.

She nodded easily, and he sensed that a battle was raging within her as well.

He moved his hands to caress her softly curved hips, the flesh silky smooth and slightly cooler than his own. His long fingers tentatively slid up her ribcage to the firm breasts, moving gently in lazy circles over the dark nipples which to his surprise hardened at his touch.

"Fascinating."

She threw her head back, and laughed heartily. He pulled her to him and captured her sweet lips in a searing kiss, which she returned mirroring the intensity of his rough probing tongue.

Her fingers were on an odyssey of their own, their course clearly set on a southern destination. He felt her smile as she reached her target, her nails raking along the shaft of his penis, now hard and straining against the unforgiving fabric of his uniform pants. As if sensing his thoughts, she redirected her focus to the closure of his pants, and he lifted himself up enough for her to slip down his trousers and black briefs.

She moved against him in a building rhythm, her face was becoming flushed and her heartbeat quickening. He moved his hand between them seeking the center of her heat, and using the pad of his thumb began making featherlight circular strokes to fan the flames.

"Are you ready?" he asked hesitantly, concerned that with his lack of experience he might inadvertently harm her.

"I've been ready for the last five years," she responded her voice heavy as she grasped the hard flesh and moved it into the proper position.

He was ready, so very very ready as he thrust his hips up to meet to that tight wet opening..

White hot pain shot through him and the sharp sound as 170 pounds of Vulcan male came crashing to the deck caused the safety override to bring the lights up to full power. Spock let out a roar of pain and frustration as he attempted to untangle himself from his bedsheets and get himself to an upright position.

His head was throbbing and he found a lump on the back of his head that roughly equated in size to a terran treenut. But the pain in his head was no match for the painful throbbing between his legs. It would be prudent, he decided, to go to Sickbay and have the lump on his head checked out, but he certainly couldn't leave his quarters, not in his present condition He grimaced at the thought of a cold shower, but it was the most logical solution.

It took almost ten minutes of frigid water and Vulcan calming techniques to return his body to normal. He wrapped himself in a towel and went back to his sleeping alcove to dress. It was strange, but he had little memory of the previous evening with the Admiral and members of the bridge crew. They had all consumed quite a bit of Romulan ale, but he could only remember bits and pieces of the rest of the evening.

It was unexpected, this warm feeling of camaraderie he was beginning to experience with his crewmates. He felt more open, he felt more accepting, he felt. He had been rebuilding his life after his encounter with V'ger, a life that would balance his Vulcan and human natures. Friendship, that would be a part of this new life. Friendship, and perhaps more, he mused as he considered tonight's dinner with Christine Chapel

As he pulled on a pair of off duty pants he noticed the flashing light on his com unit. He slipped on a black sweater and moved to the desk to retrieve the message.


	8. I'm a Doctor Damn It Not a Florist

The anger in Christine's voice reverberated in Spock's ears as he replayed her com yet again. His memory of the previous night was coming together bit by bit like a jigsaw puzzle and it was forming a most unpleasant picture. They had been drinking Romulan ale in the Officer's lounge; _male bonding_ had been the term Dr. McCoy used. He had taken pleasure in the way they accepted him, as though he'd never left them, as though he'd never tried to purge the feelings he'd harbored for them on the burning sands of Gol. He had not fought to push the emotion aside as he would have done in the past but had allowed it to fly free.

What followed, however, was a tangled blur. Christine, the others had expressed admiration for Christine, more than admiration he recalled glumly. He had experienced an unfamiliar emotion that he understood to be jealousy and had struck Lt. Chekov .

He was unsure of how he could possibly face her after what they'd done. How could he make her understand when he himself didn't understand?

Kneeling before the shrine of the ancestors he cleared his mind and asked for their help.

"Come" Christine Chapel responded to the chime on the door of her private office. Looking up from the paddchart she added "Unless you have more flowers then turn around now."

The grey steel door made a soft swooshing sound as it parted and the dark haired doctor found herself staring into the anxious hazel eyes of Admiral James T Kirk.

Her normally friendly blue eyes narrowed and sapphire morphed into durasteel. "Admiral,"she nodded stiffly, her voice cool and Kirk suddenly felt like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

"May I?" he asked glancing toward the chair across from her desk.

"Of course, sir." She responded curtly and he couldn't help hearing the light glaze of sarcasm on the word 'sir'.

He waited for her to sit before seating himself across the desk. It was becoming clear that she had no intention of making this easy for him. Glancing nervously about her office he noticed the half dozen vases of flowers covering ever horizontal surface. It had the unsettling effect of making the small space seem like a funeral parlor. Somehow it was strangely appropriate given the circumstances.

"Chris," he began sheepishly.

"You can save the Iowa farm boy smile. I've destroyed the coms, so you're off the hook."

Kirk swallowed hard and felt a hard knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm …"

"An ass? A sexist pig? A sack of …"

"Sorry, I'm sorry Chris. We had too much to drink; it just all got out of hand."

"I know," she sighed, "That's why I destroyed the coms instead of forwarding them to Fleet."

"Spock…"

"Oh yes, thank you so much; that was just the big red cherry on top of this hot fudge cluster…"

"It wasn't his fault."

"I don't care whose fault it was. Do you people have any idea what that first tour of duty was like for me? No of course you don't. I had a PhD in Biochemsistry and Xenobiology, but to you I was just a glorified shuttle hostess fluffing pillows and passing out pudding. But it was my job so I did it and I did it well."

"You were a compassionate caring nurse, Chr… doctor."

"Oh, yes caring." She responded icily. "I had the bad luck to fall in love with your damn Vulcan First Officer. You and Leonard had a field day with that; hell the whole crew had a great laugh at my expense. Oh there goes Nurse Chapel with a bowl of soup for Mr. Spock, isn't that hilarious? Yeah, foolish me taking a bowl of soup to a crewmember who hadn't eaten in four days. I was doing my damned job." She rose abruptly from the chair and turned away from him her arms crossed defensively across her chest.

"Do you know how hard it was to finish a five year medical degree in two years? And, I might add, at the top of my class? Did you think I got this posting because Will Decker wanted to 'pet my tribbles' or "breach my warp core"?

"You've fucked half the sentient beings in the quadrant and you're still the grinning golden boy. I brought a patient a bowl of soup five years ago and I'm still a laughingstock." she tuned back to face him. He had expected anger in her blue eyes but there was none.

"I do understand how hard you worked to get here, and I understand that sometimes I can be a real horse's ass. You're a valuable member of my crew, Chris and I intend to do whatever it takes to earn back your loyalty and respect."

"Well you can start by getting all these flowers out my office. I'm a doctor, damn it, not a florist."

Kirk risked a light chuckle at the obvious reference to her crotchety boss. "I'll send a yeoman down to take care of it stat. What about these?" he asked picking up the basket of plant material.

"Touch those and die." she said snatching the basket from him. "Those are some of Sulu's cocoa pods from the hydroponic lab."

"I've never known Hikaru to part with even one of those before." Kirk remarked.

"He was the first one to come and apologize this morning. I think he was afraid that I would tell Jan. Then Pavel came with the daisies which, according to him are a Russian flower and a hairline fracture to the mandible, and then Scotty showed up with the orchids."

"What about you and Len?"

"We'll be okay," she laughed, "he's taking all of my 'on calls' for the next month."

"And us?"

"We'll be ok too."

"Has Spock…" he stopped suddenly fearful he'd crossed a line by mentioning the Vulcan.

"Has Spock what?"

"Been down here to talk about last night?"

"Oh yeah, that's definitely gonna happen. I'm expecting him right after Santa Claus and the tooth fairy. Now if you don't mind Admiral I have actual work to do, so I must respectfully request you to get the heck out of my office."

Spock arose from the mediation stone with a sigh of frustration. Five hours and he was no closer to understanding what had happened than he was when he opened Christine's com. It would be so easy to lay the blame on the alcohol, but he must accept the responsibility for the consumption of the alcohol and accept the consequences of his actions. It was the only honorable path. He didn't know how he would find the courage to face Christine Chapel, but he would face her.

…

"Come." Christine called out in response to her door chime. Hopefully it was the yeoman Kirk had promised coming to clear out the vases of flowers.

She looked up to see a clearly uncomfortable Vulcan standing in her doorway.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently despite the anger she was still feeling. Rising up from the desk, she took a medical tricorder from the shelf behind her and held it toward him.

"I am fine, as least physically," he sighed and shook his head softly, "Regrettably I cannot say as much for my dignity."

"Would you like to sit down?" she asked nodding toward the empty chair.

"I was not sure that I would be welcome here," he regarded her carefully for a moment. "You are still angry."

"It will pass, hopefully before any of you come in for your next physical."

"Ah, you are using humor to defuse the anger."

"Am I?" she smiled.

"I can not change what has happened; I can only say I am shamed by my behavior. It was inexcusable to speak in such a way to a person whom I hold in the very highest regard. I shall endeavor to make certain it will not happen again."

She bit her lips together tightly and nodded her head. "I don't believe Admiral Kirk will be hosting anymore parties for a while."

"I would say the likeliness of that action would be point oh…"

Christine held her hand up to stop him and laughed heartily. "I wish I could have seen the look on Jim's face when he found out they'd spaced his whole stash."

"I can not imagine that he was pleased."

"Oh I'm sure he wasn't." her gaze shifted down to the chartpadd she'd been working on for a moment, then raised her blue eyes to meet his. "I appreciate you coming," she said and stood and offering him her hand.

He hesitated a moment before tentatively reaching out and taking her hand.

"Are you ready for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"Did we not agree to have dinner together tonight in the Officer's Dining Room."

"Yeah… I don't….I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Eating dinner is not a good idea?"

"The two of us eating dinner together isn't a good idea."

"Explain."

"It could give people the wrong idea."

He raised a curious eyebrow. "Specify."

"When humans…" she sighed, "people might think we're…"

"Hungry?" he said with the barest trace of a smile.

"Dating."

"Would it disturb you if people were to think that?"

"Wouldn't it disturb you?"

"Vulcans are not as public in their mating rituals as humans, but if I am to enter into courtship of a human female it is logical that I adapt myself to the rituals of human mating."

"Whoa, how did we get from dinner to mating?"

"It is the logical progression Christine."

"Logical?" she fumbled for the medical tricorder quickly booting it up and scanning him. "Like, every seven years kind of logical?"

"Really, Christine," he said snatching the tricorder from her hand and setting it down on the desk. "It is not the Pon Farr." He reached out and examined one of the peach roses in the vase on her desk, tenderly fingering one of the delicate petals. "Perhaps I have waited too long to declare myself?" he said shifting his gaze to the flowers throughout the cabin. "You prefer the attentions of another?" he involuntarily rubbed the knuckles of his right hand.

Christine's eyes widened. "You hit Chekov didn't you?"

"Yes," he responded slumping slightly into the chair as a fresh wave of embarrassment swept over him.

"I do not prefer the attentions of another."

"Then you will have dinner with me?"

"Perhaps," she smiled as she stood and removed her labcoat. He stood as she moved around the desk to join him. She leaned in close to him, though she was almost certain he would back away. Instead he drew even closer, they were scant inches apart.

"I just want to make sure…you know there is more involved than getting the "shuttle pod" into the docking station?"

The Vulcan raised an elegant eyebrow and nodded. "I am quite aware that there are certain protocols and procedures necessary to the proper preparation of the docking station and its environs that are essential to the creation of a satisfactory docking experience."

Christine threw her head back and laughed. "Satisfactory docking experience… we better be talking about the same thing."

Spock gently pushed her back against the wall and captured her lips in soft lingering kiss, as he pressed the length of his body against her sending a shockwave of intense desire through both of them.

"_Is my meaning clear now?" _ It was his voice, but she realized it was coming from her mind.

"Yeah," she sighed as they broke the kiss, "Pretty clear. Perhaps we should have dinner in my cabin?"

"Agreeable, however my quarters are closer." he whispered his voice raspy with desire.

"Logical."

Leonard McCoy watched as the Vulcan and his ACMO hurriedly left Sickbay and in hand, and Christine's melodic laugher rang through the outer office. There were precious few things in the universe that he considered to be worth six cases of Romulan ale, he mused as the steel door slid shut, but he was certain he'd just seen one of them.

"


End file.
